


sweetness

by tribunal



Category: Far Cry (Video Games), Far Cry 5
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Implied Relationships, Implied Sexual Content, Prompt Fic, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-07
Updated: 2019-01-07
Packaged: 2019-10-06 02:24:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17336912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tribunal/pseuds/tribunal
Summary: Crossing the room in three quick sweeps of long gait, she leans forward, hands on knees, nose so close to pressing against the eldest Seed’s. “Hey.” It’s her turn to mimic him, one finger darting out to boop the prominence of his nose. “Be nice to me, I’ve got to deal with you, after all.”





	sweetness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [outranks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/outranks/gifts).



> For @outanks, the prompt was "come over here and make me" and the request was jacob/asya. please enjoy and don't forget to SMASH that like, comment, and subscribe button for more of my open weeping about hyperfixations.

Jacob's in Asya's cabin rather than she in his (for once; his place reeked of some sandy man musk she couldn't quite place), and she's taking full advantage of it. Donning one of his left-behind button-ups, she nearly fits the shoulders but the shirt sags everywhere else, falling to right under her ass. He's too comfortable in one of her chairs, a comfy recliner she found at some garage sale or another; says he's got rights to sitting in it any time he's over since she sure as shit wasn't gonna carry it from her truck _all the way inside_.

Maybe she used it as an excuse to watch his muscles move. She doubt anyone would blame her. So she shrugged when he grumbled, a solid reaction to dealing with whatever level of surliness he’s whipping out for the day.

He's thumbing through her modest library, attention waning even as he trades one science fiction novel for another, not even blinking when Asya starts in on a fierce rambling about the virtues of speculative fiction versus "hard" science fiction. There's something charming about it, even when he loses track of her threads nearly as quickly as she spits them out, words swirling together in a flurry of noise and the motion of her hands.

“Hey.” And he holds a finger to his lips, the skin underneath his beard quirking upwards in wry amusement. Asya immediately pauses, one brow jerking upwards, hands stilling mid-motion.

“ **Come over here and make me.** ” She cocks her hip out, folding her arms under modest chest, beckoning him with mirth dancing in those sepia eyes. But this is not a man to be baited, has lived with patience under his belt longer than she. He doesn’t rise, neither from her seat or to her bait, instead flipping through the novel whose words he hasn’t even registered since picking it up.

So maybe she’s set out to annoy him and ended up annoyed herself, but that’s alright, nothing but good vibes here. Crossing the room in three quick sweeps of long gait, she leans forward, hands on knees, nose so close to pressing against the eldest Seed’s. “Hey.” It’s her turn to mimic him, one finger darting out to boop the prominence of his nose. “Be nice to me, I’ve got to deal with you, after all.”

His voice is all gravel, coming from deep within his chest. “Should be sainted for that.” He shifts, puts her book back (in its proper place) with all the tenderness his body seems slated against. She knows for certain what kindnesses those hands are capable of, though it’s simple fact that he himself is still discovering.

Sometimes, she helps. God knows she tries her damnedest, at least, and Jacob fights her every step of the way. _Not worth all that,_ he’d claim, even as he enjoys every second of being lavished in the affection he’s seriously lacked. Asya puts up with it, because, he's right, she _is_ a saint, but even her ears need a break from all the self-hate.

"I know." There's mirth in her eyes, dancing, fluttering. "I'll settle for humility a bit longer, though." She sinks to her knees, perched precariously between his. "View down here's kinda nice anyways."

One of his hands comes to rub at his chin, fingers combing through beard. "The hell're you doing down there?" She cannot, refuses to be blamed for the frisson of heat that flutters through her at the question.

"Just bein' sweet to you, old man. Now sit back, hold on to the armrests, maybe." Peering up at him from a haze of eyelashes, hands skittering up the expanse of meaty thighs. Good lord, she adores this man's thighs, how they freckle in the summer, how a ruddy heat courses from his face to the tops of them if she presses him _just so_. "Know you like to buck sometimes. Try not to, okay?"

When her fingers peel apart the teeth of his jean's zipper, she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing at his groaned-out " _damnit, Asya_ ".

**Author's Note:**

> Check my [carrd](http://tribunal.carrd.co) for my links. Still on tumblr until I catch that sweet, sweet Pillowfort access. ♥


End file.
